Round Robin
by moeten
Summary: Barney shows up at Ted and Tracy's and announces he's moving in for, say, seven months. No reason. Not like Robin is pregnant and scary or anything. Guest room free? [ultra serious collaboration with SNOWBOUNDMERMAID.]
1. don't you worry child

_**!VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!**_

 _ **SERIOUSLY, READ THIS!**_

* * *

This story is a _**collaboration**_ between myself and **Snowbound Mermaid** _ **.**_ Kinda. The rules are as follows:

1\. One of us will write a chapter.

2\. The other will write the next chapter.

3\. Then we continue alternating.

4\. Neither of us will share with the other what we are writing until the chapter is posted, so I have no idea what Snowbound will write in response to this chapter and she doesn't know what I've written in here.

4.5. Updates will happen… when they happen. IDK. It's not exactly a high pressure situation.

The whole goal is to improvise and pass the baton back and forth. So chapters might be long, or short, or funny, or cliffhanger-y, or who knows. We agreed on a very basic story idea and that is literally all the planning we did and will do.

There also won't be much editing, quality control, whatever. The whole point of this story is to have fun and be a little ridiculous. It's a game in fanfic form.

Please enjoy!

(Or, the official Skype origin story version:

moeten: Let's do a dumb no editing round robin story.

moeten: It can be a round robin story about a round robin)

* * *

 **MAY, 2020**

* * *

 _Kids, when you were young, something_ amazing _happened._

 _I don't mean that in the commonly referenced definition — 'something startlingly impressive.' I mean that in the strictest definition, from the old English āmasian, 'amaze,' as in "an event that astonishes and causes great surprise."_

 _And while I'm sure you guys agree that it_ did _turn out to be a wonderful thing in the end, at the time?_

 _Something **amazing** happened. _

* * *

Ted sat in the shade of the back porch, keeping half an eye on Penny and Luke as they played in the grass and the rest of his attention on his crossword puzzle. Five letters, _Dame's introduction_ …

He tapped his pen (other may argue, but only a man with _true_ confidence dared use ink) against the newsprint. Five letters… "Sweetie, don't feed your brother dirt," Ted called out to Penny, who dropped her dirt clod and ran giggling towards the swings. Luke smashed his Poe Dameron action figure into the dirt, shrieking happily.

Ted smiled. Suddenly, the answer dawned on him: "Of course! _Notre_ Dame!" He announced loudly, wishing Tracy was around to witness his puzzle solving prowess.

"Ted? Hey, TED!"

Rather than his beautiful wife's dulcet tones, Ted frowns slightly, recognizing the voice as…

"Dude, where the hell are you? Oh, hi, Ted!" Barney comes around the side of the house, looking nonchalant with his hands in the pockets of his suit and raising many questions in Ted's mental dialogue. Such as: _What is Barney doing in White Plains?_ and _he looks upset_.

The latter was hard to tell if you didn't know Barney: his tie was slightly unknotted, his top buttons undone, his shirt less-than-perfectly tucked. On anyone else it'd look casual and relaxed, kind of an early summer look. Worse yet, he had an (expensive looking) overnight bag slung on his shoulder. Ted put down his pen. "Barney? What the hell? Is everything okay?" He frowned. "Did something happen?"

Barney drops his bag on the porch and sits down in the deck chair beside Ted. "Huh? Don't be stupid, Ted." He doesn't so much as glance at him, so Ted assumes he's right.

Ted sighs. "Dude, if you and Robin had a fight… you can crash here if you want to, but don't you think you should try to talk it out with her instead of hunkering down here?" He loves them both, but this wouldn't be the first, or second time Barney had tried to hide at his place or with Marshall and Lily when Robin was on the warpath.

"Really?" Barney asks, and Ted's about to be all _of course, communication is the bedrock of relationships_ , but Barney keeps going, all loud and cheerful. "Awesome! I knew you'd let me stay with you! The movers should be here tomorrow, I can have the guest room, right? Oh, and I'll need your study for my suits. And have you thought about maybe converting the attic into a bar, because —"

"Holy crap!" Ted exclaims, sitting upright so fast he almost sends the table, his crossword, and his beer flying. "What happened? Did Robin — are you and Robin —" he can't even bring himself to say it. His whole body goes cold and kind of tingly. Barney is moving in? Are they… no, they can't be… even if they fight, just last week Barney sent out a newsletter updating friends and family on their latest sexual escapade (Rockefeller Center — _"I know! It's weird we hadn't done it there already, right?"_ ) — Ted lunges for and grabs Barney's arm across the table. Barney tries in vain to escape. "I am here for you, buddy. You can stay here as _long as you need_. _I love you both._ We're going to get through this. Have you considered a marriage counsellor? Even a trial separation if things are really —"

"DUDE!" Barney yells, finally freeing his arm. "Me and Robin are fine! We're not getting a divorce! _Jeez_ , what are you, on your period?" He fixes his jacket sleeve in a huff.

Ted's heart is still racing. He swallows. "So —"

"Me and Robin are totally cool. I just need to move in and live here for a while." Barney looks out at Penny on the swings, then squints and looks upward as he does the mental math. "Like… seven months. Seven and a half months. How many weeks is that? Thirty?"

"Something like that," Ted says, still staring wide eyed at his friend. He feels a little relieved, but also wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "What's going on? Is Robin leaving the country on a long assignment again?"

"Nah, she still has a year left in her contract," Barney says. "Do you have another beer?" He looks around.

"Dude," says Ted, who is starting to get the feeling that Barney is avoiding the subject.

Barney clears his throat. "I just, you know, wanna stay here until Robin stops being weird and hormonal and scary. Her gyno — gross, right? — says that'll be like, seven months, until the baby pops out —"

" _ **WHAT?"**_ Ted yells, loud enough that his children stop playing and just stare at the grownups in alarm.

"The baby. Oh, right, I should I have lead with that." Barney snaps his fingers. "Robin's pregnant. We're going to have it. I told her she should have my doppleganger, Doctor less-cool-than-me as a gyno, how funny would _that_ be, but she said —"

" _ **ROBIN IS PREGNANT?"**_ Something about this whole thing was suddenly requiring _all_ the boldface capslock.

"Yeah, Ted, keep up," Barney says with such exasperation that it makes Ted want to slap him. "Robin. Big. Huge. Scary. Baby come out. Seven months. Seriously, dude, what part of this aren't you getting?"


	2. some new air to breathe

_Author's Note: Challenge accepted. Not editing is hard. Not discussing what I'm writing with Moeten is even harder, but doing hard things is how we grow. No plans, no promises, only passing this baton back and forth. Ridiculousness will probably ensue._

* * *

Ted blinks in confusion, as Barney drops into the empty chair on the other side of the table. "How are you and Robin even having a ba—"

"Ted, Ted, Ted. You have two of your own. You should know this. When a bro and his wife do each other very, very much—"

"I know that part. Your emails are," Ted sucks in a breath, "very clear. I thought Robin couldn't have kids."

Barney takes Ted's beer from him and drains half of what's left in one pull. He sets the bottle down on the small metal table next to Ted's chair. At least it's on the coaster. "Yeah, that part." He runs a hand through his hair. Blond tufts stick up in all directions. This isn't the first time he's done this, and, by Ted's best guess, he doesn't seem to notice this. Any other time, he'd be demanding a sterilized comb and the emergency molding wax stashed in the downstairs half bath. "We thought it was food poisioning at first. Classic, right? When Lily was preggo with Marvin, but she didn't know it yet, and Marshall thought he was going to die?" He finishes with a brittle laugh. "Remember that?"

Ted nods. "I remember."

"Only ours was chili fries instead of soup, and Robin ate all of it, so I was never in any danger of death by chili fries, but I really _am_ going to die, because Robin is going to kill me." Barney's right leg bounces in nervous jerks. He plants one hand on his knee, to no avail. "She has guns," he adds, in a high pitched whine. Barney leans in, close enough for Ted to catch the moss undertones in his aftershave. "You're cool with me bringing the bullets, right? I don't know where she keeps all the guns, but I think I found all the bullets, and if she has only one, but not the other, I figure my odds are at least fifty-fifty." He casts a furtive glance at Penny and Luke, now rolling about the lawn and giggling madly, and points a shaking finger in their general direction. "What...what are they doing? Is our kid going to do that? Should you be stopping that? Should _I_ be stopping that? Is Luke's shirt one hundred percent cotton? Because grass stains one hundred percent cotton. You're not going to be able to get that out if you don't get to it right away."

Luke and Penny's shrieks of laughter cut off Barney's ramble. Ted's mouth curves. Watching the two of them playing together, wthout a care in the world, that's the dream. "That's their caterpillar game. I don't know how it works. Penny made it up after we got back from the science museum. They're fine." For a minute, he lets Barney's nervous chatter reduce to pitch and tone only. The caterpillar game _is_ pretty fun. Any other day, he'd be content to watch them roll around until they hit the butterfly stage, which consisted of running around in giant circles and spinning until they fell over, but, any other day, he wouldn't have Barney and Barney's luggage disrupting the natural order of things. He checks his watch. Tracy still has forty-five minutes of book and bubble bath time left. He caps his pen. Crossword time is over. "Back to the Robin being pregnant part?"

Barney drains the rest of Ted's — now his — beer and works his thumbnail under the upper right hand corner of the label. Not a good sign. "Yeah, that. Long story short, Robin concieving was a million to one shot. It's not like I was aiming for the target. I just," his head drops back, eyes closed. "Hit it." He doesn't laugh at the pun, intentional or not. "Turns out Dr. Sonya's _can't_ is every other doctor's _probably can't_ , only it's our _is_. Want to see the—" Barney opens his eyes and dips one hand into his jacket pocket.

Ted puts up both hands to ward off whatever Barney might pull out. "Dude, I do not need to see the stick Robin peed on. "

Barney's face creases in consternation. "Ew, that's gross. What kind of monster puts a pee stick in the pocket of Armani summerweight wool? I have half a mind to take myself elsewhere."

"Be my guest." The moment the words leave Ted's mouth, he knows he's misspoken. Barney's eyes glitter. The tension drains from his face.

"Awesome. You'll barely know I'm here. Except, you know, when Robin comes after me—and I don't mean like she did in the bathroom at Tracy's birthd—" Barney coughs into his fist. "Uh, never mind."

Ted checks his watch again. Maybe this counts as an emergency. Tracy specifically said he should only disturb her in case of blood or fire, but this could result in either, depending on how mad Robin is. "Are you sure you're both on the same page about this," he swallows. It takes some conscious effort to get the familiar word out, in such unfamiliar circumstances, "baby?"

Barney nods. "Yeah. Robin's going to be in New York for the next year at least. I'm between consulting jobs. Money isn't an issue; you read the newsletter. We figured, eh, why not?" He punctuates the question with the same shrug that once accompanied his inability to choose between strip clubs. This kid, Ted decides, is already doomed. Barney brightens. "Oh, right, I almost forgot. The note." He digs back into his pocket and withdraws a sheet of ivory lined notebook paper. "Robin said I should give you this note. You have to sign it and check the box that states I did not read it."

"What happens if I tell her you read it?"

"She will staple my balls to my leg." Barney coughs and pulls on his tie. he gulps. "The _outside_ of my leg."


	3. stop this beat is killing me

_Ok, this is the last one of the night. Woo?_

* * *

 _Robin isn't going to rip out your balls and staple them elsewhere_ , Ted wants to say, but then he reconsiders. He reaches for the folded piece of paper. "I'm only taking this because you didn't think through the blackmail opportunities this presents me with," he explains, "and that's funny."

Barney reaches for the paper — "I changed my mind! Give it back!"

"Don't make me lie to Robin!" Ted retorts, holding it out of Barney's grasp. He pulls back and Ted unfolds the piece of paper. It's not a whole long letter, thank god — barely a paragraph. He doesn't read it, not yet: he can't quite bring himself to do so. Aware of Barney melodramatically collapsed (and whimpering) in his seat, Ted looks out at the lawn. Luke is … rolling around on the grass, back and forth, back and forth, giggling as he does. His sister is throwing blades of grass at him. It makes no sense, but makes him smile and feel warm with love for his ridiculous children.

He looks at the letter, then looks over at Barney before he can read a word. "You can't just have a baby because you're _bored_."

"I didn't say we're bored," Barney whines. "I said we both have free time at our jobs."

"You can't have a baby because it fits into your _schedule_. Did you guys really discuss it?" Ted hates striking this kind of tone, but he doesn't really know _what_ to think.

"Kinda?" Barney hazards.

Ted looks at the letter again, still can't bring himself to read it. "You can't have a baby because _eh, why not_?"

"Why not?" Now Barney sounds a tiny bit peeved. "Money's not an issue, we can hire a nanny for every day of the week and never _touch_ poop, which was really the only thing I was worried about."

"There's more to —" Ted breaks off. It's almost impossible to argue with Barney in the best of times, and his brain is fracturing to a million places at once. There's more to being a parent than touching (or not touching) poop. Or _eh, why not_ reasoning. Or following a random whim out of boredom.

But at the same time, he wonders. Maybe there's more to this? God knows Robin and Barney both like to hide their real feelings and play things off as a meaningless laugh. Ted entertains the possibility that maybe they'd been wanting a child for years and _eh, we have time_ is code for _years of fertility treatments and IVF_ — except that really doesn't fit with his mental image of either of them.

No, Barney's probably being honest here. Robin probably accidentally got knocked up and they decided to run with it.

Ted's future godchild was _screwed_.

He looks at the letter again. Back at Barney. "There's more to parenting than _whims_."

"Seriously, Ted, lose the ovaries and read the letter already," Barney groans, outright slouching now.

"I'm serious! If you're running off to White Plains because Robin is pregnant, you guys aren't ready for this at _all_ , and I'm just going to end up taking care of the baby for you, like how I used to have to water all the plants when Robin and I still lived together because she never remembered to…"

"Okay," Barney says, offended, "that's just rude. I already _said_ we were hiring a nanny."

Ted waves the paper. "Don't make me tell Robin you read this!" Barney shuts up. "I just — dammit, Barney. How serious about this are you?" He needs to go get Tracy, he decides. He can't do this alone. It's just not possible. Besides, Tracy has a supernatural ability to get Barney to be honest. It's her huge eyes or something.

Barney doesn't answer with a quick retort, which … is actually kind of promising. Not great, but promising. If he said something pithy, Ted would know the answer was _not at all_. "I don't know," he whines. (A point against him.) "I mean, our kid would grow up to be _super_ awesome."

Ted decides that's about as good as he can do for now. He looks back down at the letter. It's a single paragraph in Robin's handwriting. Black pen, making little indents on the paper from the force with which she was writing.

* * *

 _Hey Ted_

(She didn't put a comma after his name, which was against the laws of letter grammar — Ted writes that lapse off as stress.)

 _Hey Ted_

 _So… — I'm pregnant. Weird right? I know you're probably Tedding out and telling yourself "wow B + R are being reckless + I'm the best dad ever and full of wisdom blah bla". Cut it out. Anyway B has been a real bitch these past couple of days all "when are yr boobs going to get bigger" and "lets name him Barney Jr" and "are you fat yet" + "lets buy a duplex + move to Tribeca?" WTF am I right?_

 _So he's all stoked and I need to get him out of my hair because I'm freaking out about this. Told him Robin Jr was killing my sex drive which got rid of him. Take care of him for me, I'm going to AC for a few days._

 _xx R._

 _PS: The kid's technically Robin 3rd but how douchey is that?_

 _PSS: I'm FINE._

* * *

Ted looks at the letter. Reads it again. Sighs.

"What? What did she say?" Barney asks loudly, jolting up in his chair. "Wait, don't tell me! Wait, mime it for me. Go on."

"She completely messed up the abbreviation for post-postscript," he says. _Also, she's having a panic attack and maybe, just maybe, I was completely right and you're more excited about this kid than you let on._ "And don't call Robin fat or impending fat or whatever else. Motherhood is a beautiful, and dare I say, even sexy natural process that only increases a woman's natural —"

"How about you don't dare to say it?" Barney interrupts. "Because: _ewww_."

Ted heaves another sigh, one that goes all the way to his toes. So much for his relaxing afternoon. "I'm getting Tracy."


	4. no better to be safe than sorry

Robin slides into the diner booth and chafes her bare arms against the chill of the air conditioning. She's not sure if she's the one who's cold, or if it's Robin Junior who wants a sweater. Either way, they both agree they want a bacon sandwich and French fries with gravy. It's not quite poutine, but Robin Junior is only five-eighths Canadian. Barney has to figure in there somewhere. She reaches for the laminated menu. It has too many pages, like those TV shows about the sucky restaurants and the guys with accents who make them stop sucking. Usually through shouting and throwing things on the floor, a tactic that did not work as well at home. They really should have some kind of disclaimer on those shows; _do not scream and thrown ktichen stuff on the floor when your husband suggests moving to a duplex._ She sets the menu on the side of the table, to signal the server she's ready, and dumps all the sugar packets from the wire basket holder onto the surface of the table. The colors are all mixed together. That's not right. She separates them into a white pile, a blue pile, and a yellow pile. There's a pink pile, too, but who uses the pink stuff, anymore? The pink ones can go back in the holder last.

"How are we doing tonight?"

She jumps at the sound of a voice imbued with the pep that only musical theater majors can manage. One hand goes automatically to her still-flat midsection. Multicolored sugar packets scatter over the table and the empty seat on the other side. "We, um, I, that is, I am fine."

The server, whose name tag identifies him as Benji, flashes a smile far too wide and bright to be natural, but too genuine to be fake. Musical theater guy for sure. He points, with the tip of his pen, to the now empty basket. "Let me guess, coffee? Looks like somebody needs a cup of the high test." He finishes with a wink. "Put you down for a bottomless?"

"That would be," she stops herself there. "Um, no. Thank you. Juice. Orange juice. Please. " She captures the packets closest to her, three pink and two yellow, and fits them back into the basket.

Benji makes a notation on his pad. He's tall, and thin, light brown hair slicked down to his head, brown eyes bright. Robin guesses him to be all of twenty five, if that, and far too into his role as Enthusiastic Waiter at Tourist Trap Diner. He's not wearing the faux nineteen-fifties uniform ironically. It's clean and pressed. She can easily imagine him getting up early to press the pocket pleats and collar points. Barney would approve. She's not sure what Barney would say about guy's names ending in _i,_ though. There aren't a lot of those. Except for Eli. Eli's name would fit on a name tag like that one. Lots of room left over for customer service stars. Benji has two, one green, one gold. Barney would know what they were both for by now, when Benji got them, and what he has to do to get whatever color comes next.

"Ma'am?"

Robin blinks, looks up from the pile of white powder that sits in front of her, surrounded by pink and yellow shredded paper. "Sorry."

Benji whips a cloth from the pouch at his waist and makes short work of her sweet destruction. "Not a problem." He glances at the menu. There's a smudge of what looks like jelly on the back cover. Benji takes care of that, too. _Good job, Benji_. "Ready to order?"

His question reminds her how long it's been since she and Robin Junior made short work of a chocolate bar at the last rest stop. "Bacon sandwich on rye, gravy fries and how's the applesauce?" That's a surprise, the applesauce, but whatever, Robin Junior is allowed to make menu selections.

"Cinnamon-tastic." Benji flashes his teeth all the way to his gums. "Want me to heat that for you? If I crumble a graham cracker on it, it's almost like apple pie." He sings the last two words and waggles his eyebrows. Benji is a suggestive seller.

"Sure." Robin grabs a napkin out of the silvery dispenser and dusts off her hands. "You'll probably want to refill this." She pushes the sugar basket in his direction, and waits for what should be happening next. What should be happening next is that Barney would tilt his head, get that concentrate-y look, riffle through all the marquees on theaters they'd passed on their way, and get within spitting distance of Benji's dream job. Barney isn't here, though. That was kind of the whole point, to get away from him and his Barney-ness, so she's going to have to wing it. "Hey, this may be weird, but didn't I see you in _The Fantastiks_?" _The Fantastiks_ is always a safe bet, and it's not lying. She isn't saying that she saw him in the play. She's asking if she did, like he'd know. There's a difference. Same as there's a difference between taking off for Atlantic City in a blind panic and making a calm, rational, adult decision to process an important life change with all the concentration it deserves.

Benji breaks into a grin so bright it could serve as a marquee all on its own. _Teeth: The Musical_. He claps a hand over his nametag. "Ohmigosh, you did not!" Red flushes from his neck, all the way to his hairline. "Really? Shut the front door. Are you serious?" His eyes grow even wider. "Are you kidding me?"

She inclines her head and rolls one shoulder in a shrug. _Way too impressed there, Benji._ "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Probably not, from her reflection in the napkin holder; messy bun, smudged mascara, lipstick only a memory. "Can you turn that orange juice into a ginger ale?"

Benji's pen clicks twice. "I can get you both, and somebody just got herself dessert on the house. Anything else I can get for you?"

Robin rolls both shoulders now, and tilts her head. "Actually, Benji, do you have a couple minutes? I'd like to bounce something off you."


	5. let's get out of this country

"Well, umm," Benji says, looking a little taken aback by the question. "I've gotta go check on table three and get on the kitchen for Mr Kowalski's ruben, but I can totally come back and check on you after that!" He finishes with true showman's grace, all smiles and sticky-out ears.

"Oh, yeah, sure." She tries to avoid tearing up anything else. And also eye contact. Robin doesn't think she's offended him or anything — probably; of course, now that she's thinking about it she isn't sure, how do you know? How can you tell? She's not sure about _anything_ , these past couple of days, guessing and second guessing. _My life is normal and I might take a gig in Istanbul_ to _I'm having a baby?_ , question marks included, in the span of two weeks — maybe she's allowed to feel thrown, but dammit, she doesn't _like_ it. All these new uncertainties and compulsions.

It's probably all Robin Junior's fault. Totally is. _Sorry, kiddo_ , she thinks in the direction of her stomach. Nothing happens in response, not yet — her OB-GYN gave her a list of websites and books to check out, things that would tell her when that kind of thing will kick in, but Robin hasn't done any of that. Maybe she should. Or maybe she and RJ-Junior can keep winging it. That will probably be fine too.

She twists her rings around on her finger, the engagement ring twirling easily and her wedding band stuck against her skin — keeps her from wrecking more of her table setting, even if it's not nearly as satisfying. She watches Benji help other people, the couple at table three and then an older man wearing a hat indoors — that guy, Mr Polishname, he looks like he fits right in this tacky diner; just needs a cigarette and old timey jacket. There's a kind of exhausted looking family by the windows; otherwise, that's it for the diner. Benji flits around and flirts with everyone, laying on that geeky theatre charm, and Robin feels almost… stung, kind of.

She's not sure anymore what she wanted to ask him.

That's not true, actually. She wanted to ask him for advice, take advantage of his cheerfulness and admiration of her and… Stupid stuff.

He does come back after a few minutes with her applesauce and gingerale. He puts the applesauce on the table, the drink on a coaster. "Your sandwich and fries will be right out. And you know what?" he says, "I made such a big deal about you getting free dessert, and I totally forgot to tell you what our specials are?" He hands her a laminated menu with an eager _praise me_ smile.

Robin takes the menu but puts it down on the table. "That's okay," she says.

"Are you sure? Oh, what was it you wanted to run by me?" the kid asks.

"Nothing," she lies. "What casinos would you recommend? I don't come to Atlantic City often."

"Oh, I don't gamble," he says lightly, and then seems to realize that could be construed as an insult or something. "I mean, when do I have the _time_? Are you from out of town?"

Of course she is. Who goes to a diner like this if they're a local? Besides Mr. Polishname, maybe? "Here from Manhattan," she says. With her momentary anxious search for praise and affirmation fading, she feels kind of awkward, not sure what to say or how to smalltalk. She wants Benji to act like she's all important and making his day again. She shouldn't have played the _were you in_ … card so early, she has no other tricks up her sleeve.

"We get a lot of New Yorkers here!" Benji tells her enthusiastically. "Personally, I'd _love_ to make it in the big city. I go to auditions whenever I get a chance." As he talks, he wipes down her already spotless table, every inch the dedicated, meticulous employee. She pictures him in some beat up Subaru, driving into some commuter's parking lot and taking the train on Saturdays, reading a script or more likely a lifestyle magazine. She feels a stab of something that might be pity. Or maybe Robin Junior wanting that applesauce.

"You know," she says. "I'm in media, actually." She straightens herself up, flips back her hair.

"You are?" Benji's eyes go as wide as saucers. He slides into the booth opposite her.

"Uh-huh." _There we go._ He's sitting across from her now, flushed and wide-eyed: she is the only thing he cares about, and that feels _good_. Benji isn't going to call her fat or future fat or suggest they move anywhere. Benji _might_ get worked up and overly excited, but she doesn't have to deal with him again after an hour from now.

She wants the praise and affirmation and to feel important and… special and glowing and whatever the hell else pregnancy is supposed to do for her. Make her feel like some regal classy dame, not anxious and needy and tearing-things-compulsively-y. Not like some semi-nauseous person running away from home because her husband is bugging her, everything is getting under her skin lately, and it was AC or Canada.

"I'm a major stories correspondent for WWN," she says.

"Oh wow! That's one of the biggest networks!" Benji says, which, yes, yes it is — she smiles at his enthusiasm, though. She likes this. Feeling important. "And you know people? I mean, I'm more of a theatre guy, but I —"

"Jackson!" Someone calls from the kitchen, cutting off her waiter mid-sentence. He yanks himself up from the booth, looking suddenly flushed and guilty. Robin guesses _Jackson_ is his last name. If Benji is a nickname (she hopes so), _Benjamin Jackson_ doesn't have a bad ring to it.

"Wow, sorry, I have to get back to work…" Benji takes a couple of backwards steps away, keeping himself and then just his head swiveled towards Robin.

"No problem," she says, taking a sip of her ginger-ale.

She pulls out a business card from her purse and watches him rush around helping customers, grabbing food — including hers — seating a new couple, talking with someone in the kitchen. But whenever he has the excuse to swing by her table he does, bringing a _huge_ platter of fries instead of the side she ordered, free refills whenever he cup looks low, each time with a conspiring _we're besties_ kind of grin.

She's back where she belongs now.

She doesn't remember anymore what she was going to ask him. For real, this time.

Lily texts her once she's finished her sandwich and is picking at her fries:

 _OMG Robin! Ted just told me! My phone isnt working, get on Skype right now!_ with a handful of smiling emotes as punctuation.

She _knew_ Lily would react like that. Maybe Robin should have told her in person. It's weird about her phone, though. Robin checks the diner for wi-fi and then boots Skype up anyway. No sooner has she logged on then Lily is trying to video call her — before accepting the call, Robin turns down the volume of her phone, anticipating squealing and weird requests to see her stomach. Normal best friends stuff.

"Hey—" she says. The screen shows Lily in close up, and Robin has just enough time to realize Lily looks kinda less than _omg babies_ before Lily pulls away from the computer, revealing herself to be in Ted's living room.

Ted and Tracy are on the sofa, Tracy a little distracted talking to Luke, and she sees Marshall in the arm chair, leaning over a little to talk to Barney. It's her husband that clues her in to what's going on: he's sitting on his hands and looking a combination of exasperated and miserable, as Marshall tries to reassure him.

"Crap," Robin says, spotting the _INTERVENTION_ banner draped over two kitchen chairs in the background. "I _knew_ that phone not working thing sounded fishy."


	6. how heavy are these words

"What's fishy is you taking off like that, without telling anybody. Where the," Lily's lips press together as she shoots a quick glance at Luke, "heck you're going." That's not quite the you're-dead-to-me look LIly aims at her. It can't be, because they're still best friends and there's Robin Junior to consider. Even Lily wouldn't declare a baby dead to her. She's going to want to pick up Robin Junior and feed them -gender neutral them, not plural them, because there is only one bun in this oven, which is scary enough- then dress them in all the cute outfits her kids wore and make a scrapbook with all the pictures of the cousins side by side. Even over Skype, even through LIly's almost-death glare those thougths come through loud and clear. Lily's nostrils flare, her arms crossed, but she shrugs. She knows Robin knows, Lily's look says, but she's still mad, because of what this is doing to Barney.

Tracy pulls Luke fully onto her lap. Dirty pool, bringing an actual baby into the intervention, but Luke isn't a baby anymore. He's not a big boy, either. He's three, in that in-between phase that kind of freaks Robin out. Luke is changing too fast. He's wearing the stripey t-shirt she and Barney gave him, the one that was too big, what, two weeks ago? It fits him now. He was supposed to be the baby of the gang, and now he isn't. Robin Junior gets that designation. Tracy smooths Luke's hair. It sticks up like Ted's. He's too young for gel, so that's Tracy's job to fix it. "Robin," Tracy says, her big brown eyes far too serious for Robin's liking, "we love you, and we're worried about you." Tracy sounds like a mom, the way a mom is supposed to sound. Firm, but still kind. Like she's not going to stop loving the person she's mad at because she doesn't like what they did.

"Hi!" Luke waves at Robin, then ducks his head, looks up at Tracy to check and see if he did okay. Tracy nods and adjusts his shirt so the stripes are even across his tummy. Luke giggles. A least there are two of them. He has no idea what's going on , but that's okay. Neither does Robin. She waves back.

That's when she knows she has to up the count of the clueless to three. Barney's right leg bounces. He's looking at it like it's not a part of his body, like he has no idea how it got there. _Crap_. She hadn't thought about this part. Hadn't thought about anything, really, and getting away to think whas the whole point. Dammit, she told Ted to take care of Barney. He doesn't look cared for; his shirt is wrinkled, the collar open. Two more buttons as well, and he doesn't notice, or he doesn't care. Neither answer is good. He's not wearing a tie at all. He's not looking at her. He's staring at his knee, following its motion, his mouth pressed so tight she can't see his lips.

She doesn't remember anymore what she wanted to say to him. Something. _I love you_ , maybe, because she does, she really does. She wants to reach through the screen and smooth his hair like Tracy smooths Luke's, fix his shirt, but he's not her baby, he's her husband. He's the father of her baby. Their baby. As far and as fast as she ran, she wishes she were there with him now. Wishes he were here, maybe. She glances away for only a moment, to the family by the window, a mom and a dad and two kids, no, three. The dad's wearing the baby in a sling across his chest, because that's a thing dads do. Marshall did it, Ted, too. Barney wore Sadie when she was little, but Robin never really looked at them when they were like that, because what were the odds? "Hey, Barn." _Look, there's Daddy_ , her future self adds, for Robin Junior's benefit. _Say hi to Daddy_.

Barney's head snaps up at the sound of Robin's voice. It had to be her voice he responded to, because Robin Junior is a long way away from social interaction, but he's their dad, so maybe he knows things. She never paid attention to that kind of thing when Lily and Tracy were pregnant. Maybe she should have. His knee stops bouncing. One hand goes to straighten a tie that isn't there. "Hey," he says, then nothing else. He cuts a glance toward Marshall, then buttons the second button. He swallows. Clears his throat. Nods to Marshall. "You go first."

"You sure?" Marshall produces a folded piece of yellow legal pad paper from the pocket of his short sleeved plaid shirt.

Unfolding the paper takes long enough for Benji to deposit two sets of crayons at Window Family's table and give Mr. Polishname a new fork. Maybe she could drop her fork, so Benji would come give her another one. Maybe she should ask for crayons. She could use them to color her placemat like the Window Family kids, to keep her fingers busy, keep her from shredding her napkin, or hold onto them for Robin Junior. A kid can never have too many crayons. Robin wills Benji to swing by her table instead of the couple's, but he's not looking her way. Mr. Couple needs Benji to look at something on Mrs. Couple's plate, so that's where all of Benji's attention goes. _Thanks a lot, Benji._

"Robin." Marshall speaks her name as a sentence all on its own. What the hell does Marshall know? He might as well be sitting on the bench, in his black robe, that she knows for a fact he's worn over that very shirt, judging her. "Becoming a parent is one of the scariest things in life. It's also one of the best. Becoming a parent with the person you love the most in the whole world," he pauses there, beams at Lily, who beams right back, "makes it even better. A long time ago, I was afraid I would never see my Lilypad again, and Barney convinced her to stop being scared and listen to her heart. Because he did, and because she did," another pause for another adoring gaze, "we have three great kids. I guess this is my way of returning the favor. You and Barney are awesome, and your baby is going to be awesome, so come home and let us smother you with-"

Lily fake-coughs and shoots him a pointed glare.

"We'll figure this all out together," Marshall finishes. "Lil?"

LIly stares straight at the camera. "Get your butt back here, pronto, missy... and little missy...or little mister." Her whole face twitches. "Ohh, scoot back from the table. I want to see your stomach." As quick as it came, the typical Lily baby-gushing shuts back off. "Running off like that really hurt Barney."

"Lily." Barney's voice cuts in.

She doesn't listen. One finger wags at the camera. "It scared him."

"Lily." Barney's voice drops lower this time. His knee bounces again, this time faster.

"It scared me, to see how scared he was. This should be a happy time. We should all be together instead of us here and you...where are you, anyway?"

Robin grabs her drink. It's mostly melted ice now. _Come on, Benji. Mama needs a refill_. She slurps the watery ginger ale through the straw. "At a diner."

Lily gives her patented scary mom glare. "In?"

"Atlantic City."

"Atlantic City," Barney echoes. "AC is Atlantic City? Not Alberta, Canada?" his hand flutters around his bare throat, fingers searching for the missing tie. Why the hell hasn't one of them given him a tie? Ted has at least a dozen of them he never wears, so it's not like he'd miss it.

Ted leans forward. "He got the note away from me, after I already checked the box."

Robin stabs the straw into the ice at the bottom of the glass. She should have known Barney would get the note, eventually. All she wanted was some quiet. Why couldn't she have any quiet? That's all she needed, a couple of days. She'd be home. They'd both be home, and then she'd be ready, well, mostly ready, to deal with the hugs and the questions and the reality. She needed some un-reality first. Maybe a casino. Maybe a show.

As if on cue, Benji plops a fresh glass of ginger ale next to Robin's plate and whisks away the empty dish. His brows flash as he catches sight of the screen. "Should I come back later?"


	7. some cities make you lose your head

Robin looks up at Benji, startled — somehow in the last couple of seconds of guilt/uncertainty/oh crap I screwed up, she'd half-forgotten what she was doing and where she was doing it. She has to get away. "Oh, no, but, um — where's your bathroom?"

Benji points to a doorway by the kitchen, a sort of mini hallway. She thanks him and pushes out of the booth, taking her phone with her. The hallway has a door to what's probably storage and two doors marked with a little stick figure man and woman: she goes into the lady's room, pushes the lock with her thumb. She had hoped to sit on the lid of the toilet, but there isn't one.

Acutely aware all at once that five people and a baby are watching her retreat on her cell phone, Robin leans against the wall and lifts up the phone and tries to look casual. "Right, sorry about that. Privacy, you know?"

Quick scan of the living room: Lily and Ted look Concerned and Marshall looks a little amused. Barney is scowling — maybe that's too strong a word, _frowning mildly with indigence —_ at Tracy, who is juggling Luke at the same time that she's giving Barney one of her looks, eyebrows raised and pointed. Robin doesn't know what the look means; her husband sure seems to.

"So, where were we?" Robin continues, all cheerful bluster. Her voice echoes off the bathroom tile. The room smells like bleach and air freshener. Clean, though. She wishes she'd brought her ginger ale.

"You, running away to Atlantic City?" Ted prompts.

"Right." Robin doesn't have much she can add to that, although she wishes she did. She tries to keep her shoulders squared and expression guiltless. She wonders if Benji would bring her a chair in here if she asked.

"Ted, read your letter," Lily says ominously. Ted shoots her a quick look and reaches into his pocket. Robin can bet she knows what it says already: _love is the best_ and _be brave Robin_ and all those other little sentiments that she sometimes relies on and sometimes — like now — finds impossibly annoying.

"Hang on a sec," Tracy says, shooting Barney another look. Ted stops unfolding his letter to glance at his wife, but she's clearly delivering some complicated message to Barney.

"Fine," Barney says with a sigh, slumping back onto the sofa and looking skyward, every inch of him screaming _bored exasperation_. Robin doesn't buy it for a second. Especially when Tracy gives him a little smile. "Guys, can you clear the room for a second?" he continues. "I gotta talk to Robin or whatever."

She's not sure if his exasperation act is a good sign or not — if it's a show for their friends or for _her_ , or even if he's actually kind of mad. Lily said _hurt_ and he probably hadn't liked that much — but of course Lily had been right — and it wasn't that Robin didn't know, except she'd let herself forget, because she needed to be _alone_ , needed to get away, and of _course_ she hadn't wanted to hurt her husband in the process… but she hadn't put any thought towards him at all.

Her letter — she'd worked so hard to make it cheerful and jokey and _meant_ it as a joke, even as she'd also been deathly serious. It wasn't supposed to lead to _this_.

Ted looks like he still wants to read his letter, but Tracy ushers him to his feet, and Marshall and Lily follow easily enough — although Lily kind of takes her time clearing the room, clearly anxious to see what happens next. Barney waits for them all to leave and then another thirty seconds or so, sitting on the sofa and looking at his hands between his knees. His expression is blank, but the kind of careful blank that means he is regulating how he feels.

It scares Robin a little. She doesn't like it when he's not ridiculously emotional. "Tracy's got you good, doesn't she?" she says, breaking the silence, joking a little. None of this was meant to be serious or bad. Normally Barney _loves_ hanging out with Ted. If Ted was a woman, Robin would probably have reason to be jealous.

"Atlantic City, huh?" Barney says, a question for a question.

Robin takes in a breath, holds it for a second, and releases it slow. "It was the first thing I could think of." She wanted something noisy and garish and fake, removed from reality, twenty-four hours of bright lights and loud noises. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal.

"Good choice," he says. "I love the AC."

"I know," she says. God, this is weirdly awkward. The two of them have never been great at small-talk, and this is as small talk as it _gets_. She chuckles nervously. "I actually namedropped you when I checked in at my hotel. Got me bumped up to an off-the-hook suite, so I guess your gambling problem has its perks."

"Really? Where are you staying?" Barney's eyes shine with a sudden curiosity, and Robin thinks she might have safely navigated them away from bad-serious, but then he goes somber again. "Wait, no, hold up. I have to… talk to you."

She bites her lip. "Look — I'm really sorry. This wasn't how it was supposed to go." She hadn't really put a lot of thought into how it was supposed to go, but… not like _this_. "I just, I need a break." He looks up in mild alarm. "No, not — not _a break_ ," she says, making air quotes with her free hand. "But a break. I need to get _away_ and not think and not…" she wafts her hand at her face, feeling a rush of emotions and feelings and _hormones_ , probably, that make her eyes suddenly feel weirdly wet. God, crying is the worst. "I know we're doing this and I'm … okay with that," dammit, that didn't sound super enthusiastic, but she can't go back now, "but it's also freaking me out and it's _all at once_ , and I mean, I tried to run away from our wedding too, and you can get a _divorce_ from that crap. Babies are _forever_ , and…" She chuckles and covers her eyes. "Wow, sorry, I am _not_ selling this."

She chances a look at her phone. Barney is looking at her, not with anger or hurt, but with… a sort of half-smile, his eyebrows pushed together but raised quzzically. She knows this look. It's the _I can't believe you loaded your ex's drum set for him_ look, or the _you really think synthetic fabrics are acceptable_ look. Amused, superior, a little condescending… and fond. She exhales and sags against the wall.

"Are you mad?" she asks in an embarrassingly little voice.

The smile flickers and fades. "A little bit," he admits. "I mean, umm…" he looks up, searching for an answer in the phrasing. "You could have said something."

She knows this is where they differ. When he's upset, _really_ upset, he likes to be with others, distracting himself and hoarding their attention and trying to get their praise. When she does, she needs to get away. It occurs to her only right now that maybe some of his obnoxiousness these past few days has _been_ him freaking out, not only from hyperactive excitement but fear over the same things she's feeling: that a baby is big, and scary, and for all that it sounds fun it also sounds terrifying.

"Sorry," she says.

He looks at her again — starts to smile — and she stops him before he can suggest anything, say anything else. "But, um. I'm not — I'm still —" she has to close her eyes. "I still need this."

Her eyes are still closed, so she doesn't see what expression accompanies his "Oh."

"I'm sorry. I love you. But I need this, I need to… to just get away from real life for a couple of days and figure it out, and when I come home I'll…" she opens her eyes, forces them open. His expression is blank again, carefully maintained. "I'll be ready, I'll read all the books, and take vitamins and stuff and all that, but I still need this, okay? I'll be back in a few days, I _swear_. I just — I need this."

She knows this has to be one of the last things he wants to hear: _sorry, baby, but I'm abandoning you after all_. Barney doesn't answer for a second — he looks off to the side. Robin knows the layout of Ted's house: the living room, where he is, has an open archway connecting it to the hall. She wonders who, if anyone, is listening there. He looks back at her.

"Okay," he says lightly. His expression is under careful control, his voice is cheerful but black.

"Okay?" she questions, staring into the phone screen so hard it hurts her eyes a little.

"Sure," he says. "Sounds cool. Hey, but stay away from the Borgata. The security there is rough." He chuckles. "This one time, I was playing blackjack, and…"

She interrupts, she can't stand this fake easiness, his _everything is cool and I am fine_ act. If it's an act. It's hard for even her to tell sometimes, especially over Skype. "Hey, can I talk to Ted?"


	8. stars careening in their crosses

Barney looks off to the side again, back at her, back to the side. His mouth forms the shape of the start of a word, but not the end of it, and falls back to that gaurded neutral expression. One hand makes a vague gesture. He turns his attention back to her again. "Are we going to...talk...again...before," he reaches for the nonexistent tie again. "Before you come home? Should I just wait, or boil water or something?" He twists his wedding ring between thumb and forefinger. His ring sticks, too. That makes it better, somehow.

"Yeah. We'll talk. Let me call you, though, okay?" _Don't call me, I'll call you_. She winces. It wasn't supposed to sound that way. She eyes the paper towel dispenser. A paper towel would make for some great shredding, and there's a trash can right there, so she could hide the evidence, and Benji, or whoever took care of the women's washroom -a glance at the laminated chart on the back of the bathroom door, its boxes scribbled with red marker, tells her that would be SP tonight, and they'll be back on the quarter hour- ever has to know. "I mean, so we can be private. Like in my suite."

He nods. Once. More of a jerk of his head than an actual nod, a token gesture that's expected, even if it' s not exactly what he means. He's hard to read when he's like this, and maybe that's what he's going for. If she could split into two Robins, she would. One would stay here, impress Benji with some name dropping and let Robin Junior pick out the dessert, and the other would get on the next train home and try, really try, to give Barney what he needs right now, but unless SP stuck a cloning device under the sink, that's not going to happen. "Yeah. Private. Private is good." He swipes one hand over his mouth. Breath sags out of him. "I'll get Ted." He heaves himself off the couch, and pauses for a long, silent look, his expression blank. "I love you. Both of you."

"Love you, too," she answers.

His mouth pulls up at the corners, and he's gone.

Robin leans her head against the tiled wall. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She should have written Barney his own letter, or called him from the train, or told him before she left, but there wasn't any room for thought during the whole tornado of packing and car door slamming and aiming the car neither of them ever really drove all that much because who drives in Manhattan, and then-

Ted drops onto the couch and leans forward, arms braced on his knees. A folded piece of yellow legal pad paper sticks out of his shirt pocket. Robin wonders if they all used the same pad. It shouldn't matter, but it does, each of them passing around the pad, taking their turn. Maybe Luke or some of the other kids scribbled on a page because they wanted to do what the big people were doing, even if they didn't know what it was. She knows that feeling. She wants the same thing, but about having a baby instead of writing a letter. writing a letter is easy. Making a whole person from scratch, that's...that's enough to land a girl in a diner bathroom, staring at the intervention banner on the screen of her phone. Ted snaps his fingers at the screen. "Robin? Are you listening?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. Pregnancy brain, amirite?" Now she really wishes she'd brought her ginger ale. Maybe Benji could bring her a to go cup, even if she isn't going anywhere. She could stay right here in this bathroom until Robin Junior decides it's showtime. As long as SP doesn't mind, or the other guests have bladders of steel. "How is he? Really?" She steels herself for the answer. _He's a wreck. Come home right now. How could you do this to him? He's falling apart by the minute. You know he has abandonment issues, and you took his kid. You're the worst._

Ted leans back against the cushions. "Surprisingly okay. I mean, yes, he's freaked out, and he still wants to stay here until the baby is born, but I think seeing you helped." He casts a glance at the archway, cranes his neck, as though he's checking something -or on someone-then leans forward again. "Robin, do you _want_ to have this baby?"

"Yes." The word leaps from her tongue, and it's weird to hear it, weird to answer that question she never thought she would be asked in the first place, and not for the first time, but it's there, echoing off the the walls, or in her head, or maybe both. She pushes her hair back from her face. "Crazy, huh?"

Ted's posture relaxes. "I've seen crazier. You married Barney, after all."

She shifts the phone to her other hand and nudges the stone on her engagement ring with her thumb. She's not going to ask if Ted means it was crazy for her to get married, in general, marry Barney, in particular, or the fact that the two least qualified people in the universe to procreate actually are procreating. Have procreated. "I'm coming home."

"I know." Ted drapes one arm over the back of the sofa, rests the other one on a throw pillow propped against the sofa's arm. "I think Barney knows, too, deep down. This is a big time for him. He's having a baby, too, but it's not inside his body. When Tracy first told me she was having Penny, I got so jealous," one hand curls into a fist and takes a jab at the air, "I wanted to punch something. Somebody."

"Because the deposit on the hot air balloon was non-refundable?"

Ted's nostrils pinch. His mouth purses. "I _explained_ it was only a postponement not a cancellation, but would they listen? Nooooooooooo." He lets out a huff, then sobers. "No. It was because Tracy had Penny right there inside her, and all I could do was be there, on the outside. I felt helpless. Left out."

"Barney is not left out." Well, left out of her last minute solo trip to Atlantic City, maybe. Not the rest of it, though, because he hadn't left her alone for a second, after the doctor said the word, _pregnant,_ and he wasn't helpless, with all the guys he had on the job before even consulting her. Realtors, birth centers, a day set aside to interview doulas, a whole tower of books on pregnancy and childbirth and parenting in the age of social media. "If anything, he's the one who's leaving me out. He's talking about names, and moving to a duplex, and he has a nursery Pinterest board already. Have you seen that thing?" His Pinterest board, not theirs. His. That pinches.

Ted sets the pillow aside. "We all have. Gray and yellow may be an unusual choice, but it's gender neutral, fits with the existing color pallette of the rest of the apartment, and has a pop of brightness for the new light of your lives. Tracy convinced him to put the decorator on retainer, instead of starting right away _._ No painting, no purchases, until you give the okay."

A trickle of relief winds its way through the tightness in her head. "Thank her for me."

"Thank her yourself. She's the one who talked him down. " As down, Robin suspects, as it is theoretically possible to talk Barney from anything. Ted draws the letter from his shirt pocket. "She said I should read you my letter anyway, even though you aren't taking the mini-Barnacle behind the Maple Curtain. You aren't, are you?"

 _Almost did_ , she doesn't answer. "Nope." She pushes the stone in her engagement ring around for two whole circles while Ted unfolds his paper.

"Robin," he scowls at the page before he continues. "Please don't staple Barney's balls, and especially not to the outside of his leg. It would ruin the drape of his pants. It would also make concieving baby number two difficult once we're doing it again. Ha ha, just kidding, we're only having one, right? Right? " Ted curses under his breath. A real curse, not a euphemism. He turns the paper so she can see Barney's handwriting. "That's not my letter. Barney bumped against me on his way out of the living room. Bastard."


	9. yes it goes on and on

"Hey, Tracy?" Tracy looks up from loading the dishwasher. She'd kinda hinted that Barney could help her, but since she hadn't asked in so many words, he feels free to ignore the request.

"What's up?" she asks, stacking glasses.

"Ted… has a dick, right?"

Tracy almost drops one of the glasses. "Uhhh. Well, we have two kids, so… I would say he does, yeah." Barney watches her color slightly, load the dishes while pretending to ignore him. He looks back down at the paper. She glances sidelong at him. "Do I want to ask why you're asking?"

" _Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,"_ Barney intones, deepening his voice dramatically, " _while loving someone deeply gives you courage_. I stole Ted's intervention letter just now," he says, jerking his head over towards the living room. He's pretty sure Lily is still eavesdropping, but Tracy dragged him to the kitchen to let Ted give Robin her pep talk (or whatever) in peace. He doesn't mind, not really, but he _really_ wants to know what's being said. But if it's anything like this letter… "It's like _Chicken Soup for the Super Lame Soul_."

Tracy snorts. "It's a quote by Sun Tzu or… eh, probably not Sun Tzu, but some old philosopher. Don't tell Ted I told you, but we have it framed in the upstairs bathroom."

"You know I can't keep that promise," Barney says, delighted.

Tracy's grin is a little mischievous as she turns away to load up the plates and silverware. "You shouldn't have stolen his letter," she admonishes gently. "You _know_ this intervention was supposed for you, too."

Barney narrows his eyes. He'd liked it better when they were all rallying together about how crazy Robin was acting. Taking off without saying anything… needing a break… who even knew what that meant? Maybe he should have let Ted read his girly feelings letter after all. Ted was always good at that crap, and they all knew Robin secretly ate it up… if Ted made some big speech about love and bravery and feelings, Robin would come back to New York… but Barney is better, he respects her space, they're having a kid together and that's… awesome.

He scratches at the wood top of the island, and pushes back from his stool to get a beer. "Whatever," he says. "I'm not the one acting weird and crazy and running away."

"Uh, there's an overnight bag in the guest room that suggests otherwise," Tracy points out.

"That's different," he explains. Ted and Tracy have an magnetic bottle opener on the fridge; he pops the cap of his beer. "I just don't want to see Robin get all fat and never want to have sex with her again. I'm _preserving our marriage_."

"I don't know," says Marshall, coming into the kitchen. "Toss me a beer?" Barney grabs a second bottle as Marshall sits in Barney's vacated stool. "Anyway, you might change your mind. When Lily hit the five month mark, she got _crazy_ horny. All three times."

"Please, when does Lily ever _not_ want it bad?" Barney asks, handing Marshall his beer and bumping his outstretched fist.

"True fact."

"Gross, guys," Tracy says, pouring in dish soap and shutting the washer. "Is Lily still eavesdropping?"

"Yeah," says Marshall with a shrug. "I was too, but it didn't feel right."

"What are they saying?" Barney asks with a twinge of feelings. "Is Robin going to live in New Jersey forever? Is Ted helping her move? Is the baby Canadian? Did Ted convince her that Robin Jr. Jr. is a stupid name and Barney Jr is way better?"

"They were talking about nursery colors when I ducked out," Marshall says.

"Did they say anything bad about the colors?" Because it's not too late to change colors, and honestly if it were up to him, he'd like greys and blacks and maybe some red for some cool dramatic flair, but babies are like, yellow, right? Yellow is a good baby color? He checked seven different websites the other night at three or four in the morning, he couldn't sleep, he'd try to sleep and then start psyching himself out — but Barney doesn't get psyched out, he gets psyched _up_ , and if his brain is gonna give him weird crazy fear feelings he's going to turn them into awesome ones instead.

He has this idea that if he plans it all and gets it all done ASAP, his and Robin's worries will go away in light of how awesome and adorable it all is. They can be parents. Robin's shitty parents are parents, and his mom used to leave him and James alone for days at a stretch when they were little and the bands were on tour. If they can do it, then Barney and his awesomeness and his hefty bank account can totally do it.

He just has to stay away from Robin while she's all hormonal and scary, and obviously she doesn't want him around either, so that works out…

But he wasn't expecting her to go to Atlantic City.

Marshall and Tracy are talking about nursery colors now. Penny had a yellow nursery when she was born, and Luke had had a royal blue theme as soon as his gender was confirmed ("as befits _the_ Luke's namesake," Marshall nods). Marvin had pale blue and Daisy had yellow and pink, while Rosey had yellow and green because they didn't know she was going to be a girl. Yellow is supposed to be gender neutral, but it actually seems pretty girly, now that Barney is thinking about it. And since Barney Jr is obviously a dude…

He wonders if Ted and Robin are still having their girltalk, or if he's allowed to text Robin without it intruding on her 'space.' He doesn't like that she took off. Sure, he also took off, but… but he's not Robin. It's different. Somehow. She shouldn't be allowed to take off like that. Ted probably has a framed quote on a wall somewhere to explain it.

"So you guys are really having this kid?" Tracy asks him, pulling him from his spaced out train of thought.

"Sure," he says.

"Congrats, buddy," Marshall says. He claps Barney on the back. "This is going to be really weird to witness, but fatherhood is _awesome_. Even you're going to love it."

He drinks some beer, tries to decide if he should be insulted, and figures Marshall makes a good point. "It'll be better once the thing is out of her," he hazards. "But as long as I don't have to see any of it, I'm good."

Tracy sighs. "Dude, this is why we were going to intervention you, too. You can't just hide out here and leave Robin hanging."

"I'm not leaving her hanging," he protests, mentally discarding a really good sex swing joke. "I'm just… supporting her from a long way away. Anyway, it's not like _Robin_ wouldn't check out of the whole pregnancy too, if she could." Tracy and Marshall both kind of nod in agreement. "Besides," he grumbles, "she ran away too."

It just… stings, kinda. Isn't Robin supposed to be the cool, independent, strong one of the two of them? While he's the awesome one with great fashion sense and a killer bod?

"This really bugs you, doesn't it?" Marshall asks.

He shrugs, then rallies. "Don't be stupid, Marshall. I don't _bug_. I don't _worry_. I just get progressively more awesome until —"

"You run away to White Plains?" Lily cuts in. They turn from the island to see Lily and Ted enter the kitchen.

"Robin had to go. Apparently management of the diner she was in frowns on forty-five minute conference calls in their bathroom," Ted says with a shrug. His gaze falls on the letter Barney had stolen earlier, still lying on the counter in front of him. "I see you read my letter."

"Yeah, I was just talking with Tracy about your huge vag," Barney says.

"What letter?" Lily asks. She approaches the counter and steals her husband's beer and Ted's letter before Barney can intercept her. Her eyes narrow as she skims it, then light up with wicked amusement. "Oooh, are we interventioning you, now?"


	10. don't ask me: i don't read the news

_Know what? I should probably back up and fill in a few blanks before we go any farther, because Uncle Barney's intervention got pretty interesting,. I don't want you to get distracted, wondering. First, yes, Benji is that Benjamin Jackson, but you can't think of him, in this context, the way you see him on TV, or on stage, when we saw him in Coincidence._

 _How good was he in Coincidence? So good. I can't believe we got second row seats for that, and we have Aunt Robin to thank. Well, her and Uncle Barney, because if Uncle Barney hadn't taken Benji under his wing, Benji would still be pinning customer service stars to his diner uniform. Okay, make that would into a could, because he really is talented. Three Tonys, an Emmy and Oscar buzz do speak for themselves. That only goes to show what hard work and believing in yourself can do. Did Benji know his life was about to change forever when he took your Aunt Robin's order that night? No, he did not, but, then again, neither did Aunt Robin and Uncle Barney. All they knew was that your cousin was on the way, and neither of them had any idea how to prepare for that._

 _Which brings me to the second thing, which is - huh. No, wait. Make that the third thing. Penny, do you remember the rules of the caterpillar game? Because your mother and I think we have most of it figured out between us, except for the one part with the grass clippings. What did you do when you played on days when there weren't any clippings? I know you didn't pull any grass out of the ground at our house, because we talked about that, and you certainly wouldn't pull grass out of Uncle Marshall and Aunt LIly's yard, and you played the game there, too. Let's put a pin in that and come back to it later, because the second thing -the caterpillar game can be the third thing, and yes, it does matter, so wipe that look off your faces. The second thing is absolutely crucial to how everything turned out as well as it did. I'm serious._

 _I should preface this by saying that I was not physically in the room where your mother and Uncle Barney actually had this conversation, because it is not a very big bathroom, so I can only go by what they told me, and their separate accounts do not always match on certain pertinent details. For the most part, I take your mother's version over Uncle Barney's, mainly because her version does not include ninjas, stormtroopers, or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but I have known Uncle Barney longer, and, sometimes, that carries some weight. Points to your mom for trying to take one for the team on that one, though._

 _Since I was not in the room, I don't know all the particulars of the conversation, but i do know that, once Uncle Barney got out of that bubble bath -a different bubble bath, not the same one your mother was taking- huh. Actually, it was the same tub, and the same bottle of bubble bath, but different water. Your mother finished her bath, put on a robe, drained the tub, made Uncle Barney clean it and draw his own bath, so there was only ever one person in that tub at one time that day. Got it? Okay._

 _Oh, and one more thing before I get back to the story. When in doubt, the answer is usually water. Put water in you, get water on you, get yourself into some water, or go look at some water. Water, as it turns out, actually played a significant role in getting Aunt Robin to come home when she did. I should reiterate that she has, unfailingly, asserted that she always had planned to come back anyway, bu the water probably didn't hurt._

 _Okay, I thnk that's everything. For now. Where was I? Right, Uncle Barney's intervention._


	11. but i know where to start

"Guys," Barney says with a long-suffering sigh. He stands up, his voice growing louder and more rousing. "Really? An intervention? Really? Don't you think that two in one day is kind of pushing it? Didn't we all agree, many a year ago, that we needed to stop having trivial interventions? Didn't we —"

"Sit down, Barney," Ted says.

Barney sits.

"This isn't a trivial intervention!" Ted says. "This is about you —"

* * *

 _— about you choosing, much as Robin did, to run away, instead of facing your fears head on, I said. Barney scowled —_

 _Dad!_

 _What? Huh? Kids, I've asked you not to interrupt me when I'm telling a story._

 _Dad, this isn't going to be like the pineapple, or that goat thing you kept forgetting about, is it?_

 _Yeah, for once, can you just tell us the thing you're dramatically hinting at_ right now _, instead of like a million years from now? I know that it's to create anticipation and entice us with peeks at the future, but, come on. We all know Uncle Barney said something gross and tuned you out._

 _And that he and mom had some cute honesty moment in the bathroom._

 _And that it's super weird that you all let that happen._

 _So for once can you just skip to the narratively relevant parts?_

 _It's not like we don't know where this story is ending, so you don't have to go into_ every _conversation you ever had… again._

 _… Kids — well — Fine._

 _So there Robin was in Atlantic City…_

* * *

As a semi-national celebrity and wife of one of the casino's (former) high rollers, Robin had not only landed herself a tricked out hotel suite, but also chocolates and a complimentary bottle of champagne. The suite itself seemed to have been designed for honeymooners — if the oh-so-classy window connecting the bedroom with a view of the Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom was a clue — and also had a small balcony with a view of the ocean.

Robin stood on the balcony, leaning against the glass rail and eating chocolates. The pecan and walnut chocolates she threw over the side, hoping to hit passing cars on the street: from 15 stories up, her aim wasn't all that great.

The night was a little cloudy and chilly. She looked out at the ocean, flat and gray from here. There were boats and a few ships. From up here, the traffic was quiet and kind of comforting, after so many years in Manhattan.

It wasn't often that she came to Atlantic City. With Barney's gambling problem, they all — and her especially, as his wife — tried to steer clear of the place, since Barney had the habit of showing up wherever his friends were, invited or not. The last time she really remembered being here… was it back when Marshall and Lily wanted to elope? God, that was a thousand years ago. They were all so young. That couldn't have been the last time she was here, but it's the one most vivid in her memory, the five of them crowded onto some crappy boat, her in some horrible shirt for Lily, watching Marshall and Lily almost get married.

That was when she was dating Ted, though. Ten thousand years in the past. She drops her empty chocolate box to the floor, touches her stomach (Robin Jr is maybe doing something in there, that or all those chocolates aren't sitting well), and then runs her thumb over her rings.

Robin needs to stop thinking. She heads back inside the suite, leaving the balcony door open behind her.

There's a huge mirror dominating the wall behind the bed, and a huge television on the wall opposite it. Robin turns the TV on to ESPN and lies back on the bed, amusing herself by pointing her feet towards the pillows and watching it reversed in the mirror. This room is five feet to the left of _tacky_. She's just glad the mirror doesn't extend to the ceiling.

Barney would probably love this place. You can take the boy out of Staten Island…

Thinking about him makes her feel vaguely guilty, and Robin watches some more backwards basketball.

As she lies there, she prods experimentally at her stomach: it doesn't _feel_ different. She'd semi-expected to feel some new hard layer under her skin and muscle, something she mentally pictures as a plastic bowl, protecting Robin Jr from Robin's prodding. But her stomach feels normal, if a little queasy from all those chocolates. She hasn't had much morning sickness, which is pretty sweet. Her boobs kind of hurt, and her appetite has been kind of weird, but otherwise, Robin really can't tell she's pregnant.

Well… except for the fact that Barney has been telling her for two weeks now that she's hormonal and annoying. She's pretty sure he's wrong about that, and that he's the super annoying one who keeps messing with the apartment temperature and _bugging her_ when she's trying to eat or watch TV and wanting to _talk to her_ about, like, planning for the baby and her job and his job and stuff she just doesn't want to _deal_ with, dammit.

So really, _he's_ the hormonal and annoying one.

It's nice to be away, honestly: to have some time to veg out by herself, eat whatever she wants, not have to take care of anyone but herself (and RJ-J, she supposes). But man, he'd _love_ this suite.

But, whatever. This vacation is all about Robin. No one else. This is her time. She has an appointment at the hotel spa in the morning, a view of the ocean, and won ten bucks at the slots earlier today. Robin is on _fire_.

There's a hockey game up next. Robin orders room service, and when it arrives, she runs the Jacuzzi: thanks to the weird sex placement, she can see the television just fine from the bath. She eyes the bottle of champagne. She knows she can't drink it, but…

* * *

 _Oh! Sorry, kids. I forgot. There actually was something in the intervention I really do need to tell you about. See, after your mother and I told Barney that he actually could not and, more than that,_ would _not spend the remainder of your Aunt Robin's pregnancy with us, and after some, uh, discussion about the logistics of marriage-when-expecting… We let Lily go last, so that she could bring it all home. And_ she _said,_

* * *

"Barney," Lily said, leaning over the island slightly to look him in the eye, "I'm only going to say this once. You and Robin have a bad habit of _not talking_. You don't want to define your relationship, you spend three years pining for one another because you can't say the words 'hey, wanna go out,' and there was that whole mess with Robin's job a couple of years back…"

"Lily," Barney says, half frustrated and half whining. "Seriously? Can we just? None of us are in our twenties or even thirties anymore, besides me and Tracy." Everyone's eyebrows raise; Tracy looks smug. "So can we maybe skip the _dear abby_ portion of today's lecture?"

" _No,"_ Lily says coldly. Barney closes his mouth. Ted and Marshall both feel a second-hand chill. "You're scared, Robin's scared, you need some time to figure stuff out. But you need to figure it out _together_ , even if it is scary. So, Robin needs a vacation and you wanna cling to Ted. We get it. But you can't hide because you don't want to start a fight, and _Robin_ can't run away and refuse to deal. And _Ted_ can't be you guys's emotional crutch and fill you with weird inspirational quotes until you feel better."

"Hey!" Ted says.

Barney draws himself up, looks indignant. It probably isn't an act; his shoulders are hunched and this whole thing is probably pretty humiliating for him. It's a wonder he isn't _more_ defensive. "Robin wants space. I'm doing what she wants."

"And what do you want?" Tracy asks mildly.

 _Probably not space_ , they all think.

Ted gives Lily a doleful look and clasps Barney's shoulder. "Look, buddy, you can stay here as long as Robin is away. The kids love you, and so do me and Tracy, you know that."

"He needs to talk to her," Lily insists. "Let Robin have her vacation and Barney have his suburban retreat after that, but they need to _talk_. Get on the same page, lay it all out there. Or else this running away thing is going to bite them both in the ass down the line."

" _Lily_ ," Barney whines again.

"I think Lily has a point," Marshall says.

"Because you're married to her," Barney mutters.

"Well, yeah," Marshall says. "Lily and I have been together for twenty years. That doesn't happen without communication. Remember how bad everything was when I got that judgeship? I didn't _talk_ to Lily, and it screwed everything up. And remember when Lily broke our engagement? If she had just told me she was scared… sorry, baby," he adds.

Lily smiles softly at him. "Water under the bridge." She turns to Barney. "Especially since Marshall is _right_."

"Well… I think they should do what makes them happy," Ted says. "We all know that Barney and Robin are weird and do things in an unusual way. If this is what they need, then we should support them."

"Kiss ass," Lily mutters.

"Thank you, bro," Barney says with complete sincerity.

"Tracy, you're the tie breaker," Marshall says.

The four of them all look expectantly to Tracy. She stalls, taking a sip of her beer. "Well…" she says, hesitating…

* * *

Robin sinks into the bath with a sigh of perfect bliss. The jets are running full blast, the Canucks are on TV, she has a slice of pizza in her hand and a full bottle of fancy champagne in the water with the bubble bath. _This_ is what she was talking about. She uses her other hand to turn the game up a little, and sinks back with another sigh.

* * *

 _Dad!_

 _You can't just cliffhanger us on mom's dialogue! That's cheap story telling._

 _Look, kids, I'm still the one telling this story, and I'm going to do it my way. Now, where was I?_


	12. being polite is getting us nowhere now

The way Robin sees it, she has three options.

Option One: Contact Barney, and address his concerns in a rational and adult manner, negotiate a concrete time for her return home, and enjoy her vacation for the rest of its mutually agreed-upon duration. She can send him a picture of her in the Jacuzzi, to assure him the temperature is set low enough that it's safe for Robin Junior. The doctor gave them a pamphlet about that. She thinks. She's pretty sure one of them had to be about Jacuzzis, because Barney asked about that. He asked about everything, or at least it seemed like it. What foods she could eat — pizza was fine, in moderation — when they could have sex. Huh. She shifted in the bath. That could be something.

Maybe she could send him a picture for his private file, to take his mind off things while she's at it. Distract him. Jacuzzi selfie, suggestive caption. _Wish you were here_ , because she kind of does, if he wouldn't be weird about everything. The bottle of champagne really should go back in the mini fridge, and she probably will put it there, when she gets out, because, okay, she can see how it would look, despite the fact that it's there for decoration only.

Barney kind of freaks about stuff like that. Freaks out about everything, really. Dude even put his fingers in his ears and hummed "Come On, Eileen," when Robin tried to figure out how many drinks Robin Junior had already, technically, had, before they even suspected it wasn't the chili fries, and Robin might, possibly, improbably, what-the-hell-are-the-odds-on-that-one, be maybe even a little bit pregnant. Once she saw the plus sign on the pee stick, that was it for the hard stuff, but before then? It's not like there's some kind of alarm that goes off at conception to let the mother — Robin still can't think of herself as a _mother_. That's about as alien a concept as Barney studying for the Canadian citizenship exam, except the kid thing is actually going to happen. — know it's last call for the next nine months. Longer than that if she's going to breast feed. Which was one of Barney's first questions, his attention focused on her chest, not her face. She doesn't know. She's got time to figure that out. Right now, she just wants to look at the bottle, that's all. Okay, maybe take it home and pop the cork when she's popped out Robin Junior. She'll need a stiff drink after that. She's seen Lily, and Tracy, so she knows how that goes, and, really, if there's a time a woman needs a drink, that would be it. She can't have one, though, and she won't, but she doesn't want to put it back yet. So she's not Skyping Barney right now, which leads her, once the Canucks make a truly spectacular play that is a thing of beauty, to the next item on her mental list.

Option Two: Retreat behind the Maple Curtain and have the baby in Canada. At least there, she'd have the home court advantage. All right, fine, she would in New York as well, but the fact is, she _would_ and Barney _wouldn't_. He'd grumble about following her, but he would, because they're married and they're having a kid, so that's not even a question. She could tell him that this is how they do whatever in Canada, and he'd have to believe her. She'd have some measure of control. There hasn't been a lot of that lately, with all these big changes coming at them all at once. All Robin wants is one thing to stay the same. One thing to remain familiar. Failing that, she'll settle for Barney being the one thrust into a situation where he can't get his footing, for a change.

Not that she wants to see him suffer. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not in a mean way. She wouldn't laugh at him or anything, and she's not going to throw another toaster. What she wants is for him to understand. She wants him to get how big this is for her. Everything is about the baby, and she's ...she's here. She's still who she was before she was pregnant, needs to see that Barney is still _Barney_. Still vain and inappropriate and blockheaded and fun. Sure, they'll have plenty of fun, the three of them, but the clock is ticking on how much time they have when it's just the two of them. He wouldn't be any fun in Canada, so she wouldn't have any fun in Canada. She's not going to Canada.

Option Three: Seek advice from a qualified, impartial, source, gather information and proceed in the appropriate direction. She can't think of an objection to that. She's also done with the good part of her pizza slice. The crust looks kind of funny, anyway, or maybe it's the light from the TV, reflected off the not-as-subtle-as-the-designer-thought-they-were gold veins in the mirror. She sets the crust on the edge of the tub. She's done with food. She thinks. For now.

The flour or whatever the crumbly stuff on the pizza was sticks to her fingers. She plunges her hand beneath the water. It lands between her hipbones. Still feels normal. She spares a casual, _hey, kiddo,_ anyway, because that's only polite, right? Maybe. Probably. She's never done this before. Didn't think she'd be doing it ever. What she needs is the wisdom from those who know better. Which is, she admits, everybody. Plenty of experts. What she's lacking, though, is the impartial aspect.

Lily has three kids, so she's the most expert, but not even close to impartial. Same with Tracy. Ted? Forget it. She crosses that possibility right off. Marshall gets a definite maybe, but he and Lily have no secrets, so she might as well consider them one two-headed creature. She runs through a list of possibilities in her head. There aren't many. Her mother is out, as is Barney's. Stepmothers are out, too. Carol doesn't have kids, and Cheryl's priority would be Jerry, whose priority would be Barney. No help there.

Kevin is completely out. _Hey, guess what, ex-fiance, who couldn't handle my infertility? My current husband — Barney, by the way, you remember Barney — got me pregnant and we're having some issues dealing with it. Any tips_? She's not asking Kevin. That's about it for qualified professionals she personally knows, unless she wants to stretch the definition.

The screen flicks from the game to a commercial. Hockey players in nothing but team-color towels argue about the best formula of deoderant. Blue towels want spray. White towels want stick. The debate over original scent versus winter fresh seems to cross color barriers. Sticks clash. Hockey sticks, not deoderant sticks, because that would be dumb. A whistle splits the room as the ref steps in. Blah, blah, something about a revolutionary gel formula, conveniently available in both scents, website, free sample, whatever. She can hear Barney's scoff of derision from here. She's not listening to the commercial.

It's the ref who holds her attention. He's not going to see fifty again; probably left it in the rearview mirror before winterfresh was even a note on some deoderant guy's napkin. Blondy-gray beard, hair in a ponytail, intense eye contact with the camera, which is kind of freaking her out. She grabs for her towel and inches out of the tub. Dude looks like Clint. He holds the blue and white packaging next to his face as the camera zooms in for a closeup. Damn. Dude _is_ Clint. She wraps the towel around herself and tucks the edge beneath her arm. Clint winks at the camera. The players slap each other on their backs, and, easy as that, she knows what she has to do.


End file.
